


just dessert

by mallowbug



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Domestic, Frottage, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23450425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallowbug/pseuds/mallowbug
Summary: Ouma feels his heart leap in his chest, and he can't tell if it's in a good or bad way.
Relationships: Gokuhara Gonta/Oma Kokichi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 147





	just dessert

**Author's Note:**

> i'm alive (and i changed my username again). i'm probably rusty and i'm sorry but i missed uploading stuff here

**“But the bedroom is aalll the way upstairs,”** comes a whine from Ouma, who's feeding persuasive and discouraging intentions into his words.

Gonta always wants to confine intimacy to the bedroom. It’s boring. In an effort to broaden the entomologist’s horizons, Ouma is trying to keep him in the kitchen — after having riled him up, might he add. It really doesn’t take much, as he’s come to learn. A few touches to all the right places, a few kisses to the neck, and a few words spoken with even just a drop a heat... Usually Gonta doesn’t even know how to handle these things, but his body does well enough.

Still, Ouma can see the expression on Gonta’s face is persistent, telling him vocally and otherwise that he’s iffy on being here in the kitchen.

 **“It’s not like anyone’s gonna walk in on us,”** Ouma presses on with his selfish reassurance. **“We have this whole place to ourselves, y’know.”**

 **“But…”** Gonta starts, but both of them realize he’s running out of counterarguments. His attempts are becoming more and more feeble, betrayed by the desire they both know he’s feeling. **“Kitchens aren’t for… this. They’re for cooking and eating.”**

Always with the stupid gentleman act, Ouma thinks with a mental sigh. Always following all these “rules”.

There’s a pause between the two of them before Ouma detaches himself from the bigger man, deciding to change his tactics. Like the flick of a lightswitch, he feigns disinterest and turns his back on Gonta to move a few paces away from him.

 **“I guess,”** he says as he leans over — or in less subtle words, _bends over_ — the island counter, propping his elbows up on the surface and his chin up in his hands. He isn’t looking back at Gonta, so he can’t see him, but he’ll wait to see what happens. If Gonta’s _really_ reluctant, then he’ll relent and take him to the bedroom as he wishes… but he’s going to try and push his luck just a little more. **“If you want to be boring. Who ever said that, anyway? You? Why can’t we just do what we want in our own home, huh~?”**

Gonta’s silent for a while, looking on. He’s fiddling with the hem of his coat in an absent-minded nervous gesture, letting his eyes trail down and catch sight of the bulge in his own pants. That alone brings on another rush of heat and color to his face, so he looks away soon after. 

**“Ouma-kun…”** he mutters, although he doesn’t actually have anything to say.

Maybe... it is fine.

He likes to be intimate with Ouma when they’re both welcoming it, and the only way he might refuse this situation is if they were in public. But there are no onlookers and they are in the privacy of their own home, which—his bedroom preference aside—is the one and only place he can comfortably enjoy that intimacy. 

Maybe if he just stops thinking about which room exactly they’re in…

Tentatively, he lessens the distance between them.

Ouma feels the shyest possible pressure against his backside, but it’s enough to make him grin. He finally spares a glance over his shoulder, welcoming Gonta’s touch by pressing back into him—and with much more inclination. 

Not expecting that, Gonta’s breath catches in his throat. The initial surprise of it seems to dissipate as soon as it had come, though, and he sees Ouma’s reciprocation as a sort of encouragement to counter his own hesitation; how he'd thought that maybe he was being too forward already. So he presses his hips forward with a bit more courage, chasing that small dose of frictional pleasure. 

Ouma swears he can feel Gonta shudder alongside the little noise he makes, and it’s delightful. A rhythm begins each time he drives his hips back against Gonta’s crotch and the bigger man follows suit.

 **“Hmm,”** Ouma breaks his brief silence, still with his chin in his palms. **“Couldn’t wait ‘til we got upstairs, could you?”** he begins teasing the other, as if this isn’t all his doing. **“Not even ‘til we got our clothes off? Look at you, bending me over the counter like this. I didn’t think you had it in you.”**

He feels Gonta’s hands grabbing his hips as this continues, noticeably gentle.

Truthfully, Gonta's struggling to maintain that gentleness as he gets into it. It's always difficult to hold himself back in the novelty of sexual pleasure, even when there's clothing in the way and it's, frankly, not enough. His gaze is lowered even though Ouma can't clearly see him, shyly looking at the back of Ouma's head or what he can see of his side profile. The teasing bothers him a little, but he doesn't have it in him to call Ouma out on his accusation. He can only blush and give in more to how good this feels, trapping Ouma against him by holding his hips still so he can grind into him with more control.

Seems it's only temporary, though. It catches Ouma's attention when Gonta slowly comes to a stop and pulls his hands away, and he'd be lying if he said there wasn't something exciting about that. What's he going to do? Toss him over his shoulder and carry him upstairs? Tear his clothes off?

Curiously, he glances back at Gonta. But before he can get to question him, the big man speaks up first.

**"S-sorry, can you... turn around?"**

Oh. A polite question was much less than Ouma was hoping for, but he should have known his thoughts were only wishful. He keeps his expression neutral as he turns around, leaning back this time with his elbows on the counter. **"Anything else, Bossypants?"** There's no real bite to those words, of course. If anything, he _wishes_ Gonta would be more bossy and commandeering in this situation. It'd make things more fun.

Gonta shakes his head, then says something that catches Ouma off guard more so than before: **"Gonta just wants to see your face."**

Gonta then kisses him before he has a chance to respond to that. He isn't sure he'd know how to, anyway, but his face is expressing the bewilderment he feels. His eyebrows furrow as if he were angry, though he isn't, really. Ouma feels the other's body closing in on his and his hands move without thinking, landing somewhat blindly on Gonta's upper arms.

As soon as the kiss parts, soft and chaste as it was, Ouma forces a noise of feigned disgust. **"What are you doing, trying to make this romantic? It's nothing like that,"** he says, in a belated response to the thing Gonta said before. It wasn't even an inherently romantic thing to say, but the way it was said... well, he knows better than to truly believe Gonta could've meant it any other way.

 **"Why not?"** Gonta asks quietly. He keeps his face close to Ouma's but feels reluctant to make another move, wanting to make sure he isn't doing something wrong. **"It's... intimate."** That's one of the safest and least embarrassing words he can use to describe this, though he still finds himself red in the face. Anything sexual must be synonymous with romantic, in his eyes. 

Ouma, on the other hand, isn't used to any romantic endeavors.

 **"Just... keep going,"** he mutters, tightening the oh-so-subtle grip he has on Gonta's arms and lowering his eyes evasively. 

Having their bodies — the lower halves, anyway — pressed so close together hits differently now that they're facing each other, but Ouma stubbornly steels himself against reacting _too much._ He prefers to see and hear reactions from Gonta, which isn't a rarity but still a gem in and of itself. All these little breaths and whines... Ouma can tell the big man is trying to keep his volume low out of modesty, but it's still _something._ He looks up at Gonta's face, catches sight of him biting his lower lip and stealing a glance down to where their bodies are grinding together, and wonders what he's done to deserve this kind of stupidly careful and loving person.

The sappiness must be rubbing off on him. Literally. He's still reluctant to give into it for lack of knowing how to handle it, so he figures he should do something to up the ante. It takes a moment of thought — as much thought as someone who's being ground against a kitchen counter can give — to come up with something; something that he hopes won't scare Gonta off now that they've come this far. 

**"Here,"** Ouma starts, wishing he couldn't feel the heat of his own face. His voice catches Gonta's attention, if with some unnecessary concern. **"Hold on."**

Gonta stops moving, faced with an uncomfortable awareness of the clothes he's still wearing and the yearning he isn't used to feeling. He watches as Ouma's hands move down and fumble with the buttons and zipper of his slacks, as if they've read his mind — though he wasn't necessarily expecting things to reach this stage.

Impatience is clear in how hurriedly Ouma's fingers move, working on undoing his own pants just enough to nudge his underwear down and free himself. Having done the same to Gonta, he wraps a hand around the combined girth of their dicks _(and maybe thanks God that Gonta isn't the type of person to comment on size difference)—_ and gives a light squeeze to start. No movement, yet. 

**"How's that?"** Ouma asks, peering up to his lover's face.

Gonta still isn't moving, either, save for the somewhat trembling rise and fall of his chest. He has that look on his face which Ouma understands to mean he wants something, but he's afraid to do it while he doesn't have the permission he thinks he needs. **"Good,"** is all he says, wishing he could get himself to say other things. _Please do something._

Ouma smirks, pleased to think he's regained the upper hand. **"Good? Hmm, you don't look so good."** He thinks Gonta looks incredible like this, actually, but he'll leave his statement vague. After all that needless anticipation his hand begins to finally move, relieving himself just as well as Gonta with rhythmic stroking. **"Is that beeetter?"**

 **"Yes."** Gonta's voice nearly comes out a squeak. His head dips and his eyes close for a moment, trying to keep himself composed. **"Thank you."**

...Thank you? What a stiff response, Ouma thinks. He starts to move his hand more quickly, his lips pressed into a tighter line to keep any embarrassing noises at bay. He's sure he can get something better out of Gonta.

The entomologist only lets out a louder exhale, like a breath he'd been holding in, keeping his eyes down. The sight (and sensation) of their dicks together is... a lot, for him, but he feels as though it's helping chip away at his inhibition. He looks up again, this time into Ouma's eyes, and experiments with rolling his hips forward — grinding into the other man, as they'd been doing before. It certainly feels better without any fabric in the way. Ouma doesn't say or do anything to stop him, so he feels encouraged to do it a second time and more. It isn't that Ouma's stroking isn't enough, but — as he gets closer to climaxing (and so soon), all he seems to want is more. 

Ouma can appreciate that Gonta's taking a little more initiative, without quite letting him take over. He lets himself breathe a bit more audibly, assuming the noises Gonta's making will drown out his own.

It's starting to feel clumsy and uncomfortable — being leaned against the counter like this, but he's trying to ignore it. When Gonta suddenly touches foreheads with him, it seems he has no choice but to ignore it. Ouma is slack-jawed in surprise, trapped into searching a pair of red eyes so close to his own purple ones. They're... slightly lidded, ~~pretty~~ , struggling to stay open, he notices. Gonta's mouth is slightly open, too, and Ouma can't even find it in him to make some teasing comment about how Gonta is breathing on him. All he can do his evade his eyes again — something to break the overwhelming eye contact, without necessarily forcing their foreheads apart.

Within a few moments, Ouma's sitting on the counter rather than standing in front of it. His legs are spread and wrapped around his lover, one arm hooked around the bigger man's neck while the other maintains that same hold around their dicks. The hand's not even moving anymore — it's more like Gonta's thrusting into it, desperate for all the friction he can get. 

Ouma's given into all of it—the tenderness of Gonta's forehead pressed against his own; how small he feels with Gonta's hands on his body; how loved he feels when all he was going for was a meaningless romp in the kitchen. It's an intense few seconds, in terms of how much longer it takes Gonta to finish. A few more concentrated bucks of his hips, a cry, and there's cum spread across Ouma's abdomen and chest. 

They stay still a moment while Gonta basks in his high, still clung to each other in one way or another. It's Ouma who tries to disentangle himself first, but Gonta hooks his arms around him and pulls him in for an— embrace? Ugh, now he's more squished against Gonta's body than he was before. 

**"Hey,"** he grumbles, pushing feebly against Gonta's body. Perhaps it's feeble on purpose, since he doesn't _really_ hate this.

The pushing stops when Gonta makes some unintelligible noise, nuzzling his head against Ouma's. **"I love you."**

Ouma feels his heart leap in his chest, and he can't tell if it's in a good or bad way. 

Damn it, he can't respond to that like a normal person should. He dodges it instead, and tries to ignore the guilt of doing so. **"Gonta, you didn't let me finish."**

 **"Oh... Sorry."** Gonta doesn't need to hear those three words to know he's loved, so he doesn't mind the lack of "proper" response. He pulls away from the embrace, readying himself for whatever else Ouma would like him to do.

That reassures Ouma's ability to get away with not returning sentiments, but that doesn't mean he won't still feel bad. Whatever, though — they've got a little more to do now, and he's going to just _try_ to use it as an excuse to push his emotions away. (He's going to fail, too, seeing as how this has gone so far.)


End file.
